Project: Morgan
by WillowOwl
Summary: Henry Morgan was cursed. He knew it. He's tried his entire life to break that curse, and when someone comes into his life, someone he never even though existed, with the power to end his misery, he's electrified. But he should have know it wasn't that easy. That something was going to go wrong. He's lived long enough to know that.
1. Strange Things

**Disclaimer: I don't own Forever. But I do own Olive King and any other concept in this story that you don't recognize.**

* * *

Henry was sitting at the piano, playing the one song he never thought he would ever in his entire life –Abe's very first jazz piece. It was the one that he had bought with his own money when Henry refused to get it for him. The title page had fallen off from overuse, but the music was still intact. Abe probably remembered the composer and title of the piece, but Henry wasn't going to ask. No need to feed his ever-growing ego.

Anyway, Abraham was asleep. It had been quite a long day. For him, at least. Nearly twenty customers had come to the antique shop, more than half of them buyers. After Abe had crawled up the stairs to their apartment, he nearly collapsed onto the couch in exhaustion.

It was quite the opposite for Henry. There were no murder victims that day, or the day before, or even the bay before. Everything was strangely quiet.

And very, very boring.

Abe had to kick him out of him "cave" after he started dissecting cockroaches he had found hiding in the walls.

So the entire day, Henry found himself going through every piece of piano music he had collected over the past two hundred years of his life. Most of them were playable on the modern piano, so it wasn't that hard for him to go through all of them. In fact, Henry hadn't even thought of touching Abe's music until he had almost finished all of his.

As he played the last few measures of the smooth, rhythmic jazz piece, the telephone went off.

"Finally," Henry said to himself, crossing the room in three strides. Boredom had taken its toll on Mr. Morgan. He hoped it was Jo with a new case as he picked up the old-fashion phone.

It wasn't.

" _Hello Henry_ ," an eerie calm voice floated through the receiver.

"Adam," Henry replied stiffly. His shoulders visibly tightened. So much for new case. "What do you want?"

" _Oh, nothing_ ," Adam drawled. " _I just though you should know that you won't be suffering alone in your mind any longer_."

"What did you do?" Henry demanded, wide-eyed. Okay, scratch what he thought earlier, but this definitely wasn't how Henry thought it would go.

" _I didn't do anything_ ," Adam continued. Henry could practically hear his lazy, sadistic smirk.

"You're lying."

" _No, I'm not. I had no involvement, but it will be entertaining when you find out who is. It'll be like a small, strange family reunion_."

Henry exhaled angrily.

"What are you playing at, Adam?" His voice was shaking slightly, but it was enough for Adam, as he laughed through the phone.

" _Let's just say_ ," Adam chuckled, " _you might have had some… distant relatives. It's really the back story that's intresting._ "

"What are you-?"

The line went dead.

In a state of shock, Henry slowly put the phone back down. _Family reunion_ … Abigail? No, that wasn't possible. She was dead. She had killed herself for him. But there was no one else. At least, not that he knew of. He thought that all his family was dead. Except Abe, of course. Adam probably was just baiting him… Was he?

Yes, Adam lived to torture him. Of course it was just some sick jest that he knew would keep Henry on his toes. Definitely.

The phone suddenly rung once again, causing Henry to nearly jump out of his skin. Well, if Adam's goal was to set him on edge, he succeeded.

Slowly, Henry reached out to the telephone with a thankfully steady hand and picked it back up, holding it to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked cautiously.

" _Hi, Henry_?" Henry nearly sighed in relief. It was Lucas.

"Hello, Lucas," Henry said, rubbing his forehead. "What is it this time? Don't tell me you booked us another reservation at that karaoke place downtown."

" _Uh, no?_ "

"Lucas."

Henry heard him sigh on the other side.

" _Okay, I'll cancel_ ," Lucas assured regretfully, " _but I'm telling you, those reservations were hard to get a hold of. You're paying me a labor fee._ "

Henry nearly rolled his eyes.

"Lucas," he said pointedly, "why are you calling me..." He glanced over at the grandfather clock on the other side of the room, "at one am in the morning?"

" _Oh_ ," Lucas said as if he just remembered, " _yeah, um, there's a new body at the morgue that came in just a minutes ago_."

"What?" Henry exclaimed, surprised. "Why didn't Jo call me?"

" _Well, it's a little complicated this time._ " Henry could hear Lucas perking up. " _The murderer was on the scene when they found the body._ "

"Really?" That sparked Henry's curiosity. What murderer would stay at the scene of the crime after the deed was done?

" _Actually, she's their most likely suspect._ " Okay, that made more sense. Kind of. " _Jo's having trouble getting her to say anything of use to them, so she didn't have any time to call you up. But I thought you could come over and help with the body, since, well-._ "

"Say no more," Henry quickly said, already grabbing for his jacket and he scribbled down a note for Abe if he woke up. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

" _Oh, great. Well, if you ever rethink your decision of turning down the karaoke-._ "

The line went dead before Lucas would finish his sentence.

* * *

The body was already on the dissection table by the time Henry got there and put on the gloves and his white coat.

"His name was Jefferson Lucifer Cole," Lucas briefed him as he walked up to the corpse. "Age thirty-nine. He was the CEO of NewStar Industries. You know, the biggest company there is that's selling solar powered products. In fact, I think they just released a toilet that flush with sun power. I mean, how cool is -."

"Lucas," Henry interrupted him before he could manage to give him a lecture-worthy description on solar powered toilets. "Cause of death?"

"Oh, yeah!" Lucas leaned toward a small hole in the middle of Mr. Cole's chest. "It looks like a bullet got him in the heart, a really, really small bullet, 'cause there's no other wounds on the body. And there are no signs of struggle, so he wasn't being held against his will before he was shot. Although there is some bruising on the chest, but the pattern and color suggest someone tried save him."

Henry reached over and stretched the skin around the wound just slightly.

"I was thinking maybe a .22 caliber?" Lucas supplied, shrugging.

"The murderer would have to be standing extremely close if only one .22 caliber was needed to cause a fatal injure," Henry noted as he continued to inspect the wound. "Lucas, could you please hand me the scalpel?"

"Oh, yeah." The dissecting tool was soon placed in his hand.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

Five minutes later, the body was sliced down the middle. It was the perfect cut in order to find anything in a body. Unless what you were looking for wasn't in the body.

"Where's the bullet?"

* * *

She couldn't believe it. This woman was pinning her –her!—for a murder. Her! Olive King! Why in the world... Well, she was at the scene of the crime when it happened, and was standing over the body after it happened, and police usually suspect you were in on a homicide when you're the only on the scene when they get there only seconds after the gun shot.

Still, why her?

"Ms. King," the detective –Jo Martinez, her name was— said for what felt like the hundredth time. "You're facing a murder charge."

Olive snorted slightly. "You think I don't know that?" Normally she had the utmost respect for detectives, considering her father once was one, but this lady was seriously getting on her nerves.

Detective Martinez forced a tight smile.

"It means," she reminded her, "that unless you tell me everything that happened, everything you heard and everything you saw, your ass is gonna get kicked hard during court."

"And I'm going to end up in prison for the rest of my life."

"Yep."

"Well, my ass is gonna get kick anyway."

"You don't know that. You haven't told me everything."

"Yes, I have," Olive sighed, frustrated. This woman had been interrogating her for the past thirty minutes, the only questions being about what exactly happened. She had told her all she knew and she still wouldn't believe her.

"Fine," the detective stated, glaring slightly at Olive. "Maybe a night in police custody will trigger your memories."

Olive rolled her eyes.

"I know as well as you do," she pointed out, "that you don't have enough evidence to hold me. I didn't even have to talk to you without a lawyer. But I don't have anything to hide." Olive stood up out of her chair. "I didn't kill this man. I was trying to save him. This Jefferson Cole guy might have been the CEO of a company that's destroying land in Africa, and I might be part of a protest group against the company, but I would never kill someone over it. I wouldn't stoop that low and risk going to prison for the rest of my life. Find someone who would." Glaring at the detective, Olive walked around the metal table and toward the door. Martinez made no move to stop her. Olive could feel her eyes burning holes in the back of her head.

"By the way," Olive snapped right before she opened the door to exit, "have your ME check for poison in the body," she looked over her shoulder at the fuming detective. "No .22 mm bullet could kill a man that fast with one shot."

Then she left.

* * *

He was stuck.

Figuratively, of course. Mentally. For the past 200 years, he had been searching. Searching for _something_ sustaining. He tried in every why possible: religion, self-experimentation, even attempt at complete world massacre for heaven's sake... yet nothing. Nobody. Nobody came up and said anything. He was getting tired, frustrated. There were no answers in this world. Only questions, on top of more questions, on top of even more questions. It was the never ending maze of enigmas; every time he though he had reached his goal, he'd just hit another dead end.

Even getting a hold of that man Adam was no use. He was too cold, too distant. He had no conscious that worked the way he wanted it to. He had proven useful in setting his plan in action, but any experimentation of his liking on him would end in catastrophic consequences. It was risky. Too risky.

No, he needed someone more human. Someone who understood the curse of immortality and didn't embrace it. Someone who still held the sentimental value in things of his past. Someone who held tight to his life, though yearned to find the ways to end it. Someone more like him.

Someone he could easily break.

He found him.

* * *

Olive stormed out of the precinct and into the chilly air of New York City Autumn nights. Mentally scolding herself for not having the foresight to grab a jacket before her going on her way, she hugged her chest tightly, using up as much heat as her flimsy t-shirt could provide and pulled the sleeves over her blood-caked hands after tugging loose her ponytail. Thick, black hair fell over her neck and ears, warming them just enough so the cold was bearable. The strands felt oily. She really needed a shower. A good thing, too. A warm one would wash the dried blood from her body.

The right pocket of Olive's jeans started to vibrate. Frowning at the now glowing fabric, she shook her right hand out of her sleeve and fished her phone out of her pocket. To cold to bother to glance at the caller ID, Olive flipped it open and pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?" Even to her, her voice sounded hollow.

"Olive? Oh my god, Olive! Where have you been?" Although her best friend's concern was rational, it wasn't exactly welcomed. Olive felt a headache coming on that she really didn't need at the time.

"I'm fine, Jem," Olive grumbled as she rubbed her forehead against her left shoulder, wishing the migraine would go away. "Really, I'm okay."

"I'd hope so!" Jem said sourly, though still sounding quite concerned. "Leaving at ten o'clock! A night? I told you how dangerous New York is at night! But nooooo, you had to go out and 'see the city.' You can see the city during the daytime! Or with someone!"

"Okay, Jem," Olive said weakly, holding in a groan. The pain behind her forehead was only doubling.

"Are you okay?" Jem asked, realizing how feeble her friend was sounding. "You don't sound very good. Should I pick you up somewhere?"

"It's just... been a long few hours," Olive swallowed frailly. "I'll tell you everything when I get back, okay? I'll walk."

Jem hesitated.

"Okay," she finally caved. "Just... promise me you can get home?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about that."

"Okay. See you soon."

"You too."

"You're going to tell me everything, right."

"Of course."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Olive was the first to disconnect, shoving her phone back into her pocket and tucking her freezing cold hand back under her arm. The streets were still filled with cars, but Olive doubted she'd be able to get a hold of a taxi, so she prepared for the inevitably cold walk back to her apartment.

* * *

 **Hello, peps!**

 **Here's my Forever fanfic!**

 **I've actually never been to New York, so I apologize if any of the details in this story are incorrect. I'll try my best to research everything as well as I can before writing about it, but I can't assure I'll be right every time.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Review, Fav, and Follow!**


	2. Shutting Down and Falling to Pieces

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Forever. The only things I do own are this plot line, Jem Mitchel, Olive King, Victor King, and the unnamed mystery man.**

* * *

"Could you tell we where Jo is?"

The officer pointed Henry to an interrogation room. Quickly thanking him, he hurried over to the door, but just as he stepped toward it, the door swung open loudly and a seething Detective Martinez stormed through the opening.

"Henry, please tell me you have something on the body?" she growled, slamming a file full of papers on to her desk.

"Well," Henry said, walking to her, before laughing nervously, "it's kind of strange."

"What do you mean, Henry?" Jo snapped, looking annoyed as hell as she crossed her arms.

"There's wasn't a bullet," Henry quickly told her.

Jo froze.

"What!"

With almost every single eye in precinct on the two of them, Henry flushed, before saying, "The bullet's not in the body."

Jo glanced around, glaring at every person looking at them, before turning back to Henry.

"There's _no_ evidence of there ever being a bullet in the body?" Jo asked, this time quieter.

"Not even a shard of metal," Henry admitted. "But I won't know everything until the toxicology report comes in." Jo cursed silently. If the renowned Henry Morgan couldn't find traces of a bullet, then she was screwed. Well, more like her dignity was screwed.

"Tell them to search for poisons," she finally snarled, only loud enough for herself to hear.

"What?" Henry asked, leaning forward.

"I said," her voice was rising, "tell them to search for poisons!"

"Okay, okay," Henry said, flinching back. "I dare ask, what's got you in a mode?"

"That girl," Jo growled, glaring at the interrogation room. " _Olive King_."

"What of her?"

Jo sneered at the file on her desk, "Her father was the lead detective before me."She rested a hand against her desk and laughed humorously. "We didn't have the best relationship. I see his daughter inherited many of his _qualities_."

"So the main suspect is a detective's daughter?"

"Yep," Jo rubbed her forehead. "So either she's telling the truth or she knows enough about the system to pull off a perfect crime."

Henry nodded. "I'll request for a poison search."

"Great."

* * *

She barely knocked on the door when it swung open, revealing an extremely distraught looking Jem.

"Olive!" she exclaimed, grabbing her roughly by the arm and pulling her into their apartment. The action caused Olive to relax an arm, and after Jem shut the door and turned back around, she spotted the blood-caked flesh.

"You told me nothing was wrong!" she cried, grabbing her hands, glancing at them in panic before looking up at Olive.

"It's not mine," she said.

"That doesn't matter," Jem stated firmly. "Thought it's slightly more reassuring." She then realized what she said and shook her head. "That's not what I mean. Here, come on." This time, more gently, Jem led her to the bathroom.

Soon, Olive's hands were under a stream of warm water from the sink facet. Pink-stained liquid ran off them, before Jem started massaging the hand soap into the flesh. The water darkened considerably, along with the addition of brown soap studs. The smell of strawberries and iron filled the air, causing Jem to grimace slightly, but it didn't pause her effort to scrub the dried blood off her friend's hands. Olive just stood there, as still as a statue, staring at the running water.

"You still got a little on your arm and neck," Jem noted quietly. Olive looked at her hands and saw that she had rubbed completely clean, even the bit under her fingernails. "You can take a shower later."

Olive nodded, rubbing her hands together slightly. They felt raw.

Jem handed her a towel. Olive took it, thanking her as she dried off the water. Neither said anything for a moment.

"What happened?" Jem questioned softly.

Olive kept looking at her hands. They weren't wet anymore, but she wrapped them in the now slightly pink towel.

"Someone was killed," she finally said, not glancing up. Jem stayed quiet, waiting for her to say more.

"And?" she podded gently when she didn't continue.

Olive finally looked up at her. A single tear ran down her face, leaving its sparkling trail.

"It was just like last time."

* * *

"So the main suspect in a former detective's daughter?" Abe asked, looking at Henry for clarification.

"It seems so," Henry told him.

"Wow."

Abe stood up from his chair in next to the couch and walked into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked, looking over his shoulder from his seat on the sofa

"It's three am in the morning," Abe listed off as he grabbed a mug hanging off the wall, "I went to bed at eleven, I was working for nearly ten hours straight, and you have burdened my already old and frail mind with news of a obvious but doesn't-make-any-sense murder case." Abe poured some water into the brewing machine. "I deserve a cup of coffee."

Henry chuckled.

"And I need to find out where that bullet went," he noted, standing up from the couch and also walking into the kitchen. "At least one of us got what we wanted."

"How did Detective Martinez react when you told her that?" Abe asked, watching the dark coffee slowly drop into the glass pitcher.

Henry grimaced.

"She has had better moments," he admitted. Abe laughed.

"I could tell," he chortled. "I mean, meeting the child of a person you hate, just to find out she's almost exactly like him?"

"She never said she hated him," Henry argued. "He's dead, anyway."

The coffee machine beeped. Abe pulled out the pitcher and poured himself a mug.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Henry confirmed. "Died four months ago."

"Wow," Abe took a sip of his coffee, turning around to look at Henry. "He was retired, right?"

Henry nodded. "Yes."

"So a grieving daughter gives into her depression and murders a person she already has feelings of resentment towards. Sounds like a sociopath in a really cliche crime novel."

Henry couldn't help but agree.

* * *

The water was scalding. Olive probably could barely feel it. She probably was just standing there in the middle of the shower, letting the liquid fire turn her entire body red and raw.

Jem knew this drill. She helped Olive through this before.

Yet as she sat on the worn loveseat in their small living room, Jem didn't know if she could do it again. She didn't do it alone the last time, or the last. She had Victor King, Olive's father. He was the one who deleted the files on his daughter. He was the one who managed to erase all memories of Olive from the precincts. Jem couldn't do that. And now that Victor was dead... God, she prayed for her friend.

Just praying wasn't enough.

Absentmindedly, Jem fiddled with a tassel on the pillow she was holding in her lap.

She remembered the first time she met the Kings. It was years ago; both Olive and her were only seven. It was at the Wollman Rink in Central Park. Being as she was, Jem was the clumsiness skater there. At least, she thought she was. She still did. But Jem remembered clearly, like it was yesterday, spotting Olive for the first time, stepping timidly on to the ice, and immediately falling backward on to her rear. Jem had expected her to start bawling like a baby, as she had landed on her tailbone before so many time, she'd lost count. She knew how much it hurt. But Olive just dismissed her father's hand for support and stood up on her own with a determined expression on her face. That was the first of many time that Jem wished she was more like Olive, that strength and courage.

But that was Olive when she was holding everything together.

Jem had seen her break down and fall apart almost as many times as she had tripped on the ice. She saw her freeze up and shut down, work like an robot. And when they moved in together, Jem dealt with the scenario she was in at the time a million times -her sitting in the pink loveseat for thirty minutes, or an hour, until dragging Olive out of the water and tucking her into bed naked. Then the next morning, it would be like none of this ever happened.

It wasn't healthy, Jem knew that. None of Olive's coping methods were, but as far as Jem knew, they helped. Professional help only seemed to make it worse; Olive's longest time in a therapy session was twenty-three seconds until she began to shut down.

Today was better, though. Olive wasn't completely silent. She had told Jem what happened, even though she knew Jem already could tell. It was an improvement. Jem knew it could get better. She knew she could help even more. But Olive never told her exactly what happened twenty-one years ago.

Jem glanced down at the watch on her wrist. It read 2:54 am. Olive had been in the shower for over an hour.

With a dejected sigh, Jem stood up from the loveseat and went over to the bathroom, the pounding of the still running water ringing uncomfortably in her ears.

* * *

 **Hello, peps!**

 **Because of the great feedback, I decided to update as soon as I finished the chapter. I've also decided to evenly separate my time for each story, so this story might go a little faster than I originally planned. Yeaj!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Review, Fav, and Follow!**


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